Music review: Tune-Yards' sophomore record contends for year’s best

Friday

Apr 22, 2011 at 12:01 AMApr 22, 2011 at 7:13 PM

One listen to her stunning sophomore record, and it’s clear that Merrill Garbus was restrained and hampered by the bedroom-tape-recorder limitations of her 2009 debut under the Tune-Yards moniker. So many idle tinkerers and shy noodlers dump sketches and ideas on tape, happy to let the fuzz-and-tape-warp aesthetic sit in place of real experimentation or expression.

Ed McMenamin

Tune-Yards

“W H O K I L L”

4AD

Grade: A

One listen to her stunning sophomore record, and it’s clear that Merrill Garbus was restrained and hampered by the bedroom-tape-recorder limitations of her 2009 debut under the Tune-Yards moniker. So many idle tinkerers and shy noodlers dump sketches and ideas on tape, happy to let the fuzz-and-tape-warp aesthetic sit in place of real experimentation or expression.

Garbus, of Montreal but now Oakland, Calif., released her 2009 record, “Bird-Brains,” to a largely strong reception. But she built her real following on the road in support of that record, wisely strapping together a soul-sonic force of a live band to complement the finest instrument — her voice. A voice that can shift from a Prince-like falsetto to Mariah Carey-levels of stratospheric heights without losing its odd masculinity and power that would fit in a rock-and-soul outfit.

The tour apparently turned Garbus into a seasoned general. She wields her army of percussion and brass and electronic freakouts in flanking formation around the audience, strafing frenetically throughout “W H O K I L L,” the new record that, at its best, embraces the polyglot musical language championed by so many Brooklyn bands — combing afropop, indie rock, jazz, and — for better and worse — hip-hop. The embrace of occasional hip-hop techniques is great, but her unfortunate gangsta-rap mockposturing is the album’s only real flaw. An especially unfortunate foray into hip-hop affected vocal delivery on “Killa” mars the as-always excellent and forceful rhythm section. The song falls apart when Garbus tries her best at rapping ­— if it can be called that — in between childlike sing-song segues. Even if meant as a mockery of cultural theft, it’s a bit embarrassing, really — the kind of song you’d have to quickly skip past if the windows are rolled down at a red light.

But it’s Tune-Yards fearlessness in experimentation that makes the album more unpredictable, fun and addicting than much of what constitutes for genre-bending in 2011.

“W H O K I L L” is discombobulated in the same way the schizo capitalization jumps up and down in her preferred formatting of the band’s name (tUnE-yArDs). It’s jittery, startling. The guitars stop and start and so does the production, sometimes introducing itself as the crap 4-track quality of her debut before it abruptly transitions into full-blown studio trickery.

The record’s peak, “Bizness,” uses blips of her own voice (think “Mister Sandman” on uppers) as the arpeggio base of a cry for, well, I’m not sure what, exactly. Whatever it is, Garbus turns in her most powerful vocal performance, wailing “don’t take my life away / don’t take my life away,” as the horn section absolutely explodes.

“Wooly Wolly Gong” is her demented version of a lullaby, more likely to lead a child to nightmares than golden slumbers. “Powa,” one of several titles unfortunately spelled in phonetic pronunciation, slowly builds around a simple ukulele chord progression. Precise, economical bass and horns build around her vocals, beginning as little more than a whisper before cathartically releasing in wails and jagged spurts of lyrics, before falling back on the steady and deliberate backbeat, punctuated by sharp stabs of reverb-heavy guitar.

“W H O K I L L” is the rare record that appears to place its emphasis on texture and polyrhythmic percussion, but can’t help introducing strong vocal melodies. And despite the common influences born into Garbus’ and her contemporaries’ music, it doesn’t sound like anyone else — originality in an era when everything’s been done twice before is always refreshing.

Ed McMenamin may be reached at emcmenamin@pekintimes.com.

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